Factions Divided and the Demand for a Principality
Days passed even in the unyielding northern winter. Daniela wasn't quite the Grand Duchess yet, but she was being treated with nearly the same reverence. Since we weren't formally married, she couldn't be fully acknowledged as such. But inside Winter Castle, it was already taken for granted that Daniela would become the Grand Duchess. Who could argue with the simple logic that the woman sharing the Grand Duke's bed must be his wife?
The problem lay with those who cared about the rumors. The northern bureaucrats and nobles didn't mind. Who in the North could defy Wintergard? Even if someone dared object, the de Wintergard family would crush them. And there'd be no justification for it anyway. If the Northern Grand Duke declared this woman his wife, who could cast the first stone? It might happen occasionally.
"The rumors are already spreading?"
"Yes, Your Grace. That the Northern Grand Duke has chosen his mate, and that she is none other than..."
Dorgon trailed off, hesitating. He was gauging my reaction, worried about offending me by speaking carelessly. I assured him it was fine.
"Because she's the Crown Prince's former fiancée, some say imperial approval is needed for the marriage."
"Hm... What do you think?"
"It's utter nonsense! Who dares spout such drivel?"
I agreed. Political marriages were commonplace in the South, where people knew how they worked, but the North was different. It wasn't called the kingdom of exiles for nothing—a derogatory term for the land where the South's rejects ended up.
"And now the Empire wants to meddle in our affairs?"
"An absurd question, Your Grace. They're probably wary of the Bart family."
On the surface, yes. If a family in the Emperor's favor gained the North's power, it could reshape the political landscape. Especially with factions split over that one woman, Cartina.
"Right. So the factions are clearly divided?"
"We're still confirming, but the outlines are emerging."
In the South, a faction had formed around the Darafont Count family, led by the Southern Admiral. A formidable naval power, they swept pirates and drove maritime trade with their massive fleet. Though only counts, they weren't imperial nobles.
"You know their son."
"Just a common thug, Your Grace. If I'd been there, I'd have cut him down no matter what."
"Leor only heard my words. What about the others?"
The Callum family. Marquesses who'd once clashed bloodily with the Barts. They'd run the Empire's largest trading company back in the day, but now they were a shadow of themselves—no pure wealth accumulation anymore.
"The Empire's got them on a tight leash, huh?"
"Precisely, Your Grace. Still heavily checked in the Empire, it'll only get harder."
"I want a report on their territory."
"I'll prepare it shortly."
In the Empire's west lay another marquisate, long called the Kingdom of Sand. Barely mentioned in the novel, but its marquis had fallen for Cartina and formed a faction. Last I checked, they'd rebelled and...
"I can't recall. The Kadla family wasn't that strong."
"They struggled most to form a faction. Not rich, not influential in the Empire, but attacking Marquis Kadla is no easy feat."
"Similar to the North?"
"Though a desert, its connected paths make it tightly knit."
It wouldn't be easy. We'd only just connected our own roads. I ordered an investigation, but it was impossible—the Kingdom of Sand was too insular, rejecting outsiders fiercely. A northerner would stick out like a sore thumb.
"There's one in the east too. The old magic tower operators."
"The Kitan family is involved, but weakest now, Your Grace. You know better than anyone it wasn't true blood succession."
"True."
The eastern magic tower passed by bloodline. But the current lord wasn't of that line—a newcomer whose rise caused many mages to defect, especially to the North. Just cross the mountains, and plenty of work awaited. For money or honor, coming north had once been mandatory. That's why we built so many forges.
"Their recent magical research is negligible anyway; they're coasting on reputation."
"No complacency. Confirm thoroughly and report."
"Understood."
Already four factions nearly formed. Their goal: steal the Crown Prince's fiancée, the victorious heroine. In the novel, Cartina talked them down amid war. But the details were vague—no one could predict the twists or end. Especially since Daniela, who was supposed to die, was here in the North.
"Dorgon, what do you think of principality status?"
"An excellent idea, Your Grace. With trust in the Empire gone, why beg for their vassals?"
"That's borderline treasonous. The Grand Duke rules as the Emperor's proxy."
I pondered. We needed ironclad justification—one that bound the Emperor, Crown Prince, and other families. We could force it without, but...
"Minister Herger is right, Your Grace. Perhaps show some outrage?"
"Fine. Outrage over what?"
"If I may be bold, there are too many reasons, Your Grace."
As Wintergard, proxy for the Emperor guarding the frontier, endured rebellions, what did the Empire do? Nothing. Just neglect. As I made the North livable, what did they do? Nothing. Their occasional aid was pitiable; nomad fights fell solely on northern troops. Southerners had never faced nomad armies. If that's not enough,
"Now they question the Grand Duke's consort? What greater insult to our autonomy?"
"Not enough, Dorgon."
"Then add this: demand all back support funds never sent."
In short, pay up the tab—we have the receipts. Demanding unpaid debts is a shopkeeper's plea. If the customer refuses, prepare for trouble. And nothing would fluster the Empire more—they'd never been asked before.
"With those three reasons and compensation demands, they'll have to seek alternatives."
"So we take no money, demand principality status instead?"
"We'd need to be quite rude there."
"Why?"
"They must feel our fury's gravity."
Dorgon had a point. Even justification-obsessed folk dismissed empty pretexts. But an invoice in their face? Unbeatable. Best way to settle it cheap: let them restore the facade.
"Perfect. Dorgon, summon Herger now. Draft proper documents and prepare to depart."
"Shall I go myself?"
"No, we have the perfect candidate here."
There was one ideal envoy. Leaving the winter chamber, I walked slowly to the study. A principality—below the Emperor but de facto independent sovereign. The Empire acknowledging it outright.
I entered the study. Daniela was napping. Being Grand Duchess-in-waiting was subtly exhausting. No prior holder meant those duties had piled up neglected. The lady of Winter Castle had much to do.
I touched her forehead. No fever, but I vividly recalled her arrival—burning up, and me marveling at the defeated heroine.
"Your Grace, may I enter?"
"Come in."
White beard, white hair. His long locks evoked a mythical northern beast. Behind him stood his son, rigid. The de Wintergard family. You are the perfect ones. And if backed by the right support...
"The de Wintergard family has always been loyal to the Grand Duke."
"Yes! Our house is Wintergard's shield, guardians of—"
"I know, I know. Now, would you vent my rage in my stead?"
Father and son exchanged glances, uncomprehending.
"Our line could end. James stays here. Lord Roy de Wintergard, serving our house for three generations."
"Yes!"
"You might die this time."
"If this old man dies for the Grand Duke, what greater honor?"
"I see..."
Of course, we couldn't leave it all to de Wintergard. Need one more bureaucrat. Jamuchin was with the nomads, Herger handling internals. Alfredo or Hexon too vital.
"I'll attach a silver-tongued one. Jackson, the Interior Vice Minister."
I nodded unconsciously. With Jackson, we wouldn't lose in words.
"Lord Roy, I give you this mission."
"Speak."
"Go to the Imperial Palace. Show them the edge of my wrath. And if you must die, die honorably."
Roy de Wintergard knelt his massive frame.
"I shall succeed!"
"But don't force it."